


Wild Sea

by fuwuneral



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, I'm really going for a vibe here, It's technically not cannibalism if you're not a human, M/M, Murder Husbands, Rating for later chapters, Sailor/Merman AU, Will has no excuse though, merman Hannibal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29304555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuwuneral/pseuds/fuwuneral
Summary: After being thrown overboard at sea, Will wakes up in an abandoned lighthouse with a mysterious man who says he was shipwrecked. Slowly, Will discovers Hannibal isn't what he claims to be.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 24
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting a Hannibal fic!  
> This AU has totally taken over my brain, so if you like the idea of old timey sailor Will and man eating merman Hannibal as much as I do, please enjoy.  
> Canon-typical warnings for violence and disturbing thoughts apply, but this is going to be pretty tame compared to canon.
> 
> I also drew some art:  
> https://fuwuneral.tumblr.com/post/642344939503730688/sailor-willmerman-hannibal-au-this-au-crawled

“You know, they say these areas are pretty dangerous. There used to be stories of sirens here, nesting on the rocks and luring unsuspecting sailors to their deaths. Nowadays, people just say it’s the currents. But you know that, right?”

It registered in Will’s head that Beverly was talking to him. “Huh?”

She sighed. “You said you’ve been out this way before.”

Will nodded. “A few years back.” He didn’t look at her, instead staring out over the silvery surface of the water that surrounded them, its color a reflection of the overcast sky. It was slightly choppy, but nothing like the storm that had rocked and battered his boat the last time he was here. “I almost died.”

Beverly cocked her head curiously. “Why did you come back then?”

For a moment, Will caught a glimpse of dark hair in the water, blue eyes blinking up at him from beneath the waves. He paid it no mind--he’d been seeing Abigail everywhere since they’d left port. “In search of peace, I guess.”

“You are so weird.” 

“Yeah,” Will agreed. “I get that a lot.” 

The wind picked up, dark clouds rolling overhead as they got back to work. Will took up a long coil of rope, the rhythmic winding motions coming easily to him. The simple, repetitive tasks of sailing were more familiar to him than most anything else, and it occupied his mind just enough to keep his thoughts from wandering to unpleasant places.

Suddenly, the unmistakable crack of breaking wood rang out from below, and the boat rocked beneath their feet. Shouts erupted from the crew, scrambling below deck. Will caught one of the crew members as he passed, grabbing him by the arm. “What’s going on?”

“Something’s hit the hull. We’re taking on water.”

Will hurried to his post, manning the sails alongside Beverly and a few others. She tossed him a rope, and he held on. Another crack. More shouting. A massive gust of wind caught the sails, and the boat listed sharply to one side.

The rope slipped from Will’s hands, and he realized belatedly that he was falling. He distantly heard Beverly shout his name. He grabbed at the side rail, but his hands found no purchase on the slick wood, and down he fell.

The water was the kind of cold that froze Will’s muscles and snatched the air from his lungs. The chaos on the ship disappeared the second he hit the water, replaced by the strange stillness just below the surface. A delicate hand closed around his wrist, and he looked down to see a familiar face floating beneath him, smiling. She pulled him downward, beneath the waves, fingers intertwining with his as they drifted down together.

In the bitter cold, numbness spread from Will’s fingertips and feet, and he was almost warm. He thanked his failing body for that small mercy as he let his eyes drift closed. Let the water take him.

He might have imagined, as his lungs filled with water, strong arms wrapping around him.

The first thing that Will noticed when he woke up was that he was, unexpectedly, not dead. The second thing he noticed was that he was lying on a hard floor, wet clothes clinging to his skin. He opened his eyes to see a ceiling above him. He registered warmth and light, and turned his head to see a burning fireplace built into the stone wall beside him. He’d been laid here to dry. 

“Good to see you awake,” said a voice from behind him. A male voice, with a pronounced European accent.

Will pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking around. He was in a small, circular room, with a few wooden crates arranged like one might arrange furniture. The walls were tinged with green and brown, and looked like they had never been fully dry. A man was sitting against the opposite wall, the firelight casting stark shadows on his face. He stood and crossed the room to Will, looking him over with clinical eyes.

“You look well, considering the condition in which I found you. How much do you remember?”

Will blinked, focusing his eyes on the man’s face. He was middle aged, with sandy brown hair and a clean shaven face, in gray trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He looked put together, out of place in his surroundings. “Who are you?” asked Will. Speaking hurt--he felt like he’d been frozen and thawed, and his mouth tasted of salt. 

The man crouched to examine Will more closely. “My name is Hannibal Lecter. I found you washed up on the shore, half drowned. You are lucky to be alive.”

Will looked away, sitting up and moving closer to the fire. 

“Were you shipwrecked?”

“Where am I?” asked Will, ignoring the question.

A faint flicker of what might have been irritation crossed Hannibal’s face. “An abandoned lighthouse on an unnamed island. I have lived here since I was shipwrecked myself, months ago.” He took a kettle from over the fire, pouring a mug of hot tea and handing it to Will, along with some kind of cured meat. “Here. Eat and drink, you will feel better.”

“Thank you.” The hot liquid helped, warming him from the inside. The meat helped, too, though his jaw was still stiff from the cold. 

“You should change into dry clothes, too. Here.” Hannibal offered him some folded clothes. “Then rest. I will be back to check on you soon.”

Will nodded, and Hannibal left, glancing back at him before closing the door. Will finished eating, then stripped off his clothes, putting on the ones Hannibal had given him. There was a dry blanket draped over a nearby crate, and Will wrapped it around himself, huddling close to the fire. As he stared into the flames, he thought of the weight of the water pressing down on his chest and the fading light above him, filtered through the waves. He wondered, for a moment, if that was the real reason he’d returned to those treacherous waters, to sink into their depths and never return to the land.

He forced those thoughts to the back of his mind and laid down on the stone floor. His bones were stiff and aching, and despite his mind’s disquiet, he fell quickly back to sleep.

Hannibal was nowhere to be seen when Will woke up, which was just as well. He needed some time alone, to get his bearings. The fire had faded to embers, but Will’s body temperature had returned to something resembling normal. Keeping the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, he stood and crossed the room, opening the door to a rocky shore. Will stepped outside, walking along the water and looking around. 

From here, he could see the exterior of the lighthouse. The top was broken, but the walls seemed solid. He thought idly that he could probably repair it, given enough time. Gulls swooped and flapped overhead, pecking at the debris that littered the tide line. Much of it was man-made, broken wood planks and shards of glass worn smooth by the sea. Will picked up a tangled fishing net, extricating it from a mass of kelp. It was worn, but intact, and Will carried it with him, figuring it might come in useful. 

By the time he made his way back to the lighthouse, Hannibal had returned. He was crouched by the fireplace, positioning a cooking pot in the hot coals. He turned as Will entered the room. “Up and about already?”

Will nodded wordlessly.

Hannibal indicated the pot. “Bone broth. I thought the warmth would do you good.”

“Bone broth?” Will repeated, confused. The island was small and rocky; he couldn’t imagine any animals lived here other than fish and birds.

“I have been here for some time, like I said. Part of learning to survive here has been trapping seals and other marine mammals when they can be found.” He stirred the pot, setting his wooden spoon to the side. “You might be surprised to see the things that wash up here from wrecked ships. Crates of spices, ceramics, cloth and more. Ironically more than I’d likely have been able to afford.”

“Hm.” Will sat down on a nearby crate, keeping the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. 

“You did not answer my question, before,” Hannibal pointed out.

“What question?”

“Were you shipwrecked?”

Will shrugged. “Something hit the boat, and I was thrown overboard. I don’t know what happened after that, if the boat went down or not.” He thought of the crew and hoped that it hadn’t. Most of them, he wouldn’t miss, but some deserved better than drowning.

“To venture onto the sea is to put one’s fate in its hands,” said Hannibal. “It seems the sea decided to spare you.” 

Will said nothing, staring blankly at the wall. Hannibal poured some broth into a bowl, which he deposited in Will’s hands.

“Thank you.”

Hannibal nodded. “Be sure to drink it all. You have had a long day.”

Will lifted the bowl to his lips and took a sip. The broth was rich and flavorful; Hannibal had clearly made use of the spices he’d mentioned earlier. Will welcomed the warmth as it spread down his chest.

When he finished, Hannibal collected their bowls and took them outside to rinse them clean. Will wandered up the stairs to the top of the lighthouse. The light had clearly been the victim of a vicious storm, the glass shattered and long since scattered by the elements. From here, he could see the edges of the island--it really was small, barely large enough to hold the lighthouse. He wondered in the back of his mind how Hannibal had managed to survive here for so long. Night was falling over the ocean, coloring the water dark and gray.

Hannibal joined him a few minutes later.

“They say no man is an island,” he said, his gaze fixed on Will with an odd intensity. “Tell me, Will, what lies beyond the seas of your island?”

Will swallowed, looking out over the darkening horizon. “I feel more like a small boat than an island,” he said quietly. “Rocked and battered by the waves.”

Hannibal hummed thoughtfully, turning his gaze to the water. “Then perhaps it’s time you learned to swim.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finds a potential way to leave the island, and begins to realize something isn't right about Hannibal.

Two days passed on the island. Will busied himself catching fish with the net he’d found, gathering mussels from where they clung to the rocks in huge clusters, and combing the beach for anything useful that may have washed up. In the mornings, Hannibal was nowhere to be seen, and Will didn’t ask where he went. After some initial questioning, conversation was kept to a minimum; Will got the odd sense that Hannibal regarded him as a stray dog he didn’t want to scare away. He asked questions every so often, piercing eyes always watching Will as if he could see something new each time. Testing the waters.

On the third day, a rowboat washed up on the island. It was damaged and waterlogged, but Will had seen worse. With the various assortments of debris that littered the tide line, he was sure he could fix it. For a fleeting moment, the futility of it all overtook his mind, and he was tempted to leave the boat right where it was, or push it back into the sea to sink to the sandy floor. He ignored the thought and hauled the boat up the beach, where the tide wouldn’t reach it, and set about collecting what wood he could find that wasn’t rotted or soaked through.

Hannibal returned as Will was inspecting the damage. “What do you have there?”

“A whaleboat, a small one,” said Will. “I think I can repair it. Could be our way off this island.”

Hannibal, stoic as ever, didn’t seem excited at this prospect. “The surrounding waters are dangerous. You are lucky to have escaped them once.”

“Lucky is a strong word,” said Will.

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed slightly, considering him. “I have some tools that may be of use.” Something about the thoughtful pause and casual tone of voice put Will on edge; he could tell Hannibal had more to say, questions to ask, but he was waiting, for some reason.

“That would be helpful.”

Hannibal nodded, retreating to the lighthouse. As Will watched him walk away, he noticed for the first time that Hannibal walked with a slight limp, stiff and careful as though each step caused him pain. 

He returned a few minutes later with a bag of tools, which he handed wordlessly to Will. There wasn’t much--some nails, a small saw, and a hammer--but it was better than nothing. “Thank you,” said Will. 

“Of course,” said Hannibal, settling down to watch as Will rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

Several minutes passed in relatively comfortable silence as Will sawed down the planks. The saw was small and rusty, and it was slow going, but it wasn’t as though he had anything better to do.

Hannibal broke the silence first. “Do you have a family, Will?” he asked, his eyes following Will’s hands as he worked. “Someone to whom you’re eager to return?”

Will hesitated, not sure how to answer. He thought of Alana, and realized with a twinge of guilt that it was the first time he’d thought of her since he got here. “It’s complicated,” he said. 

“How so?” When Will hesitated again, Hannibal continued. “It might do you good to talk about it. Left alone with one’s thoughts in an environment like this, it is all too easy for the mind to become a prison."

Will sighed. “I had a daughter. Adopted daughter. My friend Alana and I were raising her together.”

Hannibal tilted his head slightly. “Had?”

Will set down his tools for a moment, avoiding Hannibal’s eyes. “She died. Three years ago.”

“How did it happen?” Somehow, the rush of the wind and the waves seemed to have quieted as the question hung heavily in the air. 

Will swallowed. The passage of time had done nothing to dull the memory--the frequency of his nightmares might have had something to do with that. “I took her out sailing,” he said. “There was a storm, and our boat capsized. She drowned.”

“How did you survive?”

“I don’t know,” said Will bitterly. “A passing ship found me floating in the water. We went down together, and the ocean spat me out.” He shook his head. “Twice, now.”

“You regret your survival,” Hannibal observed.

Will paused again. “...Yes,” he admitted. “It was my responsibility to take care of her. And I failed her.”

A moment of silence passed between them, and the wind picked up again.

“What was her name?” asked Hannibal. 

“Abigail.”

Hannibal hummed thoughtfully. “What of your friend Alana?”

“What about her?”

“Do you consider her your family?” 

Will sighed, again. “Like I said, it’s complicated. Ever since Abigail died, we’ve drifted apart some. She says she doesn’t blame me, and I believe her, but sometimes I wish she did. Might be easier.”

Hannibal leaned back slightly. “Do you believe she expects you to return?”

Will cast his gaze out to the horizon, over the rough waves. He’d asked Alana, once, if she missed him when he was out at sea. She’d paused before she responded that she did, in the same way he missed Abigail. “She shouldn’t.”

The wind picked up, whipping through their hair and showering them with salt spray. Hannibal stood, offering a hand to Will. “It’s getting dark,” he said. “We should return to the lighthouse.”

Will hesitated a moment before taking the offered hand, following Hannibal down the beach. “I know how to swim, you know.”

The barest hint of a smile touched Hannibal’s lips. “If you’re referring to my comment the other day, I was speaking metaphorically.”

Back at the lighthouse, Hannibal prepared some kind of stew in a heavy iron pot over the fire, tossing in the day’s catch of fish and mussels, along with some of the cured, salted pork he kept packed in the crate it had washed up in. The result was filling and flavorful, and Will noted with some irony that he was eating better here than he had on any ship he’d ever sailed, and maybe even at home. For all Alana’s merits, cooking was not her strong suit. 

Hannibal disappeared again after dinner, and Will curled up on his blanket, trying to calm his racing mind enough to fall asleep.

Slowly, he became aware of the sound of trickling water, seeping up through the cracks in the stone floor and soaking his blanket. He sat up, confused, only to see that the floor was already covered with several inches of salt water. The various crates and boxes strewn about the room began to float. Will stood up, looking around but unable to locate the source of the water as it steadily rose to the level of his knees. The wind outside escalated to a deafening howl. 

At the center of the room, a hint of dark hair broke the surface of the water, followed by Abigail’s face, cold and lifeless. She rose slowly with the water, her clothes soaked through and crusted with sand and salt. The wind fell deathly silent for a moment, before the water swallowed them both.

Will woke up sprawled on the hard stone floor, sweating. In the windowless room, he couldn’t tell if it was morning or not, but Hannibal was absent, as he usually was when Will woke up. He shook his head to clear it and stood, reorienting himself. The room was chilly, but dry, no mysterious flooding or ghostly visions.

There was, however, something he hadn’t noticed before: a wooden door set into the floor. It must have been under one of the crates before, otherwise Will would have noticed it earlier. There was a hole carved near the edge, presumably to act as a handle. Curious, he pulled it open, dropping it into the floor with a heavy thump. It opened onto a ladder, descending several feet onto a stone floor.

There were a few small windows, letting in enough light for Will to see as he climbed down that the floor of this chamber reached only halfway across the room, whereupon it gave way to water. It was too dark to tell how deep it might be. He crossed the room to the water’s edge, dipping his hand in. As the ripple spread across the surface, he glimpsed something underneath. It was just deep enough that he couldn’t quite make out what it was, but for a fraction of a second, he thought it looked like a face.

Will couldn’t say what came over him. It might have been the lingering disturbance of last night’s dream, or simple curiosity, but before he could think better of it, he braced his hands on the stone and slid down into the water.

What little light there was only reached a few feet below the surface. Instinctively, Will opened his eyes wider, ignoring the sting of the salt water, but he could barely make out the shape of his own hand inches from his face. As he sank deeper, even that disappeared into a darkness more complete than if he’d closed his eyes. 

He reached out experimentally, trying to put his hand on the stone wall for some sense of direction. Instead, his fingers brushed a strand of seaweed. He swam downward a bit further, feeling around blindly in front of him, until he had to admit to himself that this had been a bad idea. His lungs were beginning to ache, and he couldn’t tell which way was up, much less what might be worth looking for down here.

Something moved near him, the water swelling as it rushed by. Will swam toward what he hoped was the surface, hoping whatever was here with him wasn't interested in him. 

Something strong grabbed hold of his ankle. Mustering as much strength as he could underwater, he kicked his leg hard, shaking it loose. Distantly, he registered that he hadn't actually kicked that hard; whatever it was had let him go. He didn't have time to process that thought before sharp claws were digging into his side, raking down the length of his torso. Numb from the cold, he couldn't tell if the wound was deep. A problem for later. His lungs were burning and he could only hope he was swimming the right way. 

He broke the surface at last and took a gasp of air, climbing onto the stone floor. He kept his eyes on the water, but nothing suggested movement underneath. Satisfied that the creature hadn't followed him, Will inspected his side. His shirt was shredded, but the wounds were barely more than scratches. He knew somehow, looking at the claw marks, that this creature had allowed him to escape alive. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it becomes clear he's not leaving anytime soon, Will becomes determined to find out what's really going on.

The scratches down Will’s side were red and irritated the next day, but didn’t seem infected. They weren’t bleeding anymore, so he left them unbandaged under his shirt as he headed out to the beach to work on the boat. As he stepped out of the lighthouse and onto the beach, a sinking feeling settled heavily into his chest.

The whaleboat was torn to shreds, planks and shards of wood scattered across the rocky shore. If he didn’t know better, he might not have guessed it was once a boat at all.

Will’s first thought was that this wasn’t an accident. Even if the wind had picked up enough to bash it against the rocks, the damage wouldn’t have been this extensive. The only other person on the island was Hannibal, though, and it seemed unlikely that a man his age--or a man of any age, for that matter--would have been able to do this by himself. 

Maybe it wasn’t a man, his mind supplied. Whatever he’d encountered in the water under the lighthouse certainly wasn’t one. Moreover, it seemed unlikely that Hannibal could have lived in the lighthouse for months without knowing, at the very least, that there was something down there. All of it was strange: a man living on this tiny, barren island for months, a boat being demolished in the night, an unknown creature lurking in the waters beneath an abandoned lighthouse. Will wasn’t sure how, if at all, it all fit together. 

He sighed, resigned, and gathered up the remains of the boat.

Hannibal joined him as he was hauling the broken pieces back to the lighthouse for use as firewood. “I take it your repairs are not going well,” he said.

“You think?” Will snapped, annoyed at Hannibal’s nonchalant tone of voice. He sounded more like he was discussing the weather than finding out they’d lost their chance at getting off the island. “Something or someone tore it to pieces last night.” 

“Is that an accusation, Will?” asked Hannibal, seemingly unfazed by Will’s irritation. “There are only the two of us here.”

“I noticed.” Will dumped the pile of wood unceremoniously on the lighthouse floor and grabbed the fishnet. “I’m going fishing.”

He made his way down the beach and out onto the rocks, where the water was deep enough to cast the net without a boat. Hannibal didn’t follow him. Will wondered, not for the first time, how he’d survived so long before Will’s arrival--he hardly seemed like a seasoned fisherman. In fact, he seemed like the kind of man who would be more at home in a library than on a ship. It wasn’t often that Will had trouble reading people. He considered himself, for lack of better words, a good judge of character. But the more time he spent with Hannibal, the more mysterious he became. 

He didn’t see Hannibal again until he returned to the lighthouse with the day’s catch of fish. A fire was already burning in the hearth, and Will welcomed the warmth after spending the day outside. Wordlessly, he handed the bundle of fish to Hannibal and sat down by the fire. An itching feeling had settled in the back of his mind, an instinct that told him nothing here was what it seemed. What that meant, he couldn’t yet say.

Hannibal’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Have you ever killed anyone, Will?”

Will leveled a deadpan stare at Hannibal. “Is this your idea of pleasant conversation?”

Hannibal met his eyes for a moment, then looked back down at the fish he was preparing. “Would it be wrong of me to assume that your thoughts are often unpleasant?”

Will sighed, then answered the least uncomfortable of the two questions. “...Yes. I’ve killed someone.”

A beat of silence passed. “How did it make you feel?”

The memory flashed unbidden through Will’s mind. Abigail’s choked screams, his own hands soaked in blood, cold eyes locking onto his. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, truthfully. Left unsaid was the reason why, the ever-present fear that if he spoke of that day, he’d open a door that he’d been holding shut for years. 

“It would be good for you to talk about it,” said Hannibal conversationally. “Free the ghosts trapped inside your head.”

Will let out a humorless laugh. “Trust me,” he said, “Neither of us wants that.”

Hannibal considered him for a moment, but didn’t press the issue. They finished preparing their dinner in silence, save for the roar of the wind against the lighthouse walls. 

That night, Will dreamed of the dark waters beneath the lighthouse. He sank slowly through the depths, the pressure increasing and all light vanishing into inky blackness. Somewhere in the water, a light appeared, radiating a faint reddish glow. As he swam toward it, a face loomed out of the darkness, illuminated just enough for Will to recognize it as Hannibal. His features were still, and the visage looked more like a mask. As Will drew closer, the mask fell away, replaced by a gaping maw lined with needle-sharp teeth.

As Will expected, Hannibal was nowhere to be seen when he woke up. The scratches stung, but they didn’t affect his range of movement as he stood and stretched out his arms. 

He made his way to the trap door and down the ladder before he could change his mind, pausing at the edge of the dark water. Distantly, the rational part of him wondered why he cared so much about knowing what was down there. What would it matter? He’d be just as trapped on this island either way, and whatever creature had scratched him last time was more than likely still there. It might kill him this time, he thought, picturing his own body floating in the darkness. 

A ripple disturbed the surface of the water. Will looked up as something slowly emerged from the center of the pool--a pale, slender hand, grasping at the empty air. He blinked, and it disappeared, the surface still once more. 

He sighed and pulled off his shoes, diving in.

This time, he was prepared for the shock of cold, and he paused to let his body adjust before taking a breath and diving into the blackness below. He swam to the opposite wall, placing his hand on it before diving down. Keeping close to the wall, he swam downward until he felt it give way to open space. Something he could only call intuition told him this was what he was looking for, why he’d come back after the last time. He swam into the chamber and upward, hoping there would be a pocket of air at the top. There was, and he took a deep breath of damp, stagnant air, pausing to look around futilely in the pitch blackness. 

Down he went again, following the wall to the floor of the underwater chamber. Feeling around with one hand, Will could tell it was littered with objects of different shapes and sizes, some smooth, some covered in what felt like barnacles. He grabbed one at random, swam up for another breath, then went back the way he came, alert for any hint of movement in the water. He made it back to the surface without incident, only then realizing what was clutched in his left hand.

A human skull, encrusted in barnacles and algae. 

The shapes Will had felt out in the darkness coalesced in his mind into images. The floor of the underwater chamber was strewn with bones. 

He recalled his encounter with the mysterious creature, how it had seemingly toyed with him before letting him go, the unsettlingly human-like grip on his ankle. 

Hannibal had some explaining to do.

Will pulled off his soaked shirt, wrapping it around the skull before climbing the ladder. A quick glance around revealed Hannibal still hadn’t returned, which was just as well; it gave Will time to change out of his wet clothes. He built a fire and settled next to it, keeping the wrapped skull close by. Hannibal had something to do with whatever was happening on this island, Will was certain. How much or what, exactly, he wasn’t sure, but his boat hadn’t dismantled itself. And something had left all those bones below the lighthouse. 

Will searched the crates stacked around the lighthouse until he found what he was looking for: a hefty coil of rope, hopefully long enough to make a net. Whatever was lurking in the water, it was too big to catch with the tools he had, and too dangerous to meet unprepared. He began tying the net by hand, one strand of rope at a time. It was a tedious process, but it occupied his hands and kept him focused. By the time Hannibal came back, he’d made significant progress.

“Keeping busy, Will?”

“I like having a project,” said Will simply, without looking up from his work. 

In his peripheral vision, Hannibal moved to the other side of the fireplace, where he took a seat, the flames bathing his face in warm light as he turned to look at Will. “Do you feel the need to keep your mind occupied, lest it stray to dark places?”

Will looked up, meeting Hannibal’s eyes. There was something hidden in those eyes, just out of sight. “Well,” he said, knowing what would interest Hannibal, “It has no shortage of dark places to go.”

Hannibal leaned forward ever so slightly, his eyes fixed intently on Will. “When you go to those places, Will,” he said, “What do you see, looming out of the darkness?”

Will paused, more for dramatic effect than anything. “I see the truth.” He looked back down at the net in his hands, deftly tying off another strand of rope. 

“Does the truth frighten you?” Hannibal’s face was as stoic as ever, but Will could sense his interest.

“...Sometimes.”

“This is not about the loss of your daughter,” Hannibal noted. An observation, not a question. “This is about the person whose life you ended with your own hands.”

There it was. Will sat back, setting down the net. He paused again, letting Hannibal wait for his response. “I’ll tell you about it,” he said, reaching for the cloth covered skull, “If you tell me why there’s a cave full of bones underneath this lighthouse.” He tugged on the edge of the cloth, letting the skull roll out and fall to the floor at the edge of the fireplace. A couple of teeth came loose, scattering on the floor. “Quid pro quo.”

Hannibal smiled then. The expression sent a shiver down Will's spine. "You would bare your secrets to me, for the promise that I would do the same. Has it occurred to you that this cave full of bones comes as news to me? Or that I might agree, only to rescind my promise once my curiosity is sated?"

"No," said Will without hesitation. "Whatever's happening on this island, you know it intimately. And you wouldn't go back on a promise--you'd consider that rude."

"You are correct," said Hannibal. "On both counts."

"I know," said Will. 

"Very well." The intensity of Hannibal's gaze rivaled the fire. "Tell me who you killed."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I've been really nervous to post a fic for such a large fandom. Please consider leaving a comment if you enjoyed it <3


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